


Resurrection

by Lefaym



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Post-Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-06 00:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6731203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lefaym/pseuds/Lefaym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard to adapt to life as a dead woman. But not everyone sees her that way. Not quite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resurrection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionessvalenti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/gifts).



> I hope you have a happy May the 4th!

It’s strange, being a dead woman. 

She could have watched her own funeral on the holocast, though she chose not to. Still, she can’t avoid the odd clip here and there, inserted into newsreels, into propaganda for this new Empire. She has seen Chancellor Palpatine -- no, the Emperor -- shaking his head in false sorrow as he blames her demise on the treacherous Jedi, with that monstrosity who is _not_ Anakin standing beside him.

On one of her forays into Aldera, she hears two women talking about how terrible it was, how they’d always admired her. One of them looks right at her and showed no sign of recognition -- her skills with makeup and facepaints are too good for that.

The person she was no longer exists.

* * *

Bail and Breha are good to her. Bail has always been her friend, and Breha quickly becomes one. But they call her Matai, and to the rest of the galaxy she is simply one of Leia’s nurses. It hurts to hold her daughter in her arms, to be reminded of what has happened to her dreams, and to Ani’s. But those moments are her happiest, too.

More difficult are the missives from Obi-Wan -- always via datapad, never holovid. _The boy is doing well. His aunt and uncle love him. Ben._ She reads his sparse words over and over, trying to glean some detail, to find some connection with her boy, with Luke. She knows, in her mind, that Obi-Wan was right, that her children must be separated, so that one of them might survive if Palpatine and… Vader… were to discover the other. Her heart is another matter.

It might be easier if she could do something. She longs to join Breha on her trade negotiations that double as a recruiting ground for the small Rebellion struggling to find its way. She envies Bail when he returns to the Senate, knowing that he will see their old friends, and that he will bring many of them over to their cause. She wishes, even, that she could join a cell running covert missions to obtain medical supplies or laundered credits. But she knows without asking that the risk would be too great.

* * *

Perhaps it’s because she’s been able to do so little -- because she has grown used to standing aside -- perhaps that’s why she panics when they realise that Leia is gone from her nursery.

The search has barely begun when she opens the secure channel set aside for emergencies, and sends the message to Obi-Wan: _She’s gone. I think he has her._

His response is swift: _I’m on my way._

Obi-Wan is already in hyperspace when they find Leia after a frantic six hours: the girl is tired, excited, and unharmed. The questions start about how a two-and-a-half year old managed to evade palace security and wander most of the way into the city by herself, and after Bail and Breha are done holding her, the woman called Matai is allowed to bury her face in the child’s hair. 

* * *

Later, much later, the central residential computer informs her that a guest is seeking entrance to her quarters. She stands as she allows the door to slide open, and there is Obi-Wan, looking so much older than the last time she saw him, though he’s still a young enough man, really.

“Padmé,” he says. It’s the first time she’s been addressed by her name in years.

She covers her mouth with her hand in an attempt to maintain control. “I’m sorry,” she manages at last. “I should never have sent the message…”

“No, no.” He crosses the room swiftly and pulls her into an embrace. “For all you knew, the worst had happened.”

Padmé tries to hold back again, but it’s no use. She allows herself to sob against his chest, and she can’t stop for many long minutes. When she finally does pull away, Obi-Wan’s eyes are red-rimmed too.

He takes her arm and guides her to the long sofa at the edge of the room.

“It’s been too long,” he says.

“It has,” she agrees.

“Tell me about your life here.”

Padmé does. There’s no need to hold back with Obi-Wan; she doesn’t have to hide her frustration at being trapped here, she doesn’t have to pretend that she’s someone else. She tells him about Leia, so fierce and independent already, and not even three years old.

And then Obi-Wan tells her about Tatooine, about his own frustrations, his own struggle, in spite of his Jedi training, to adapt to a life of peace and solitude after a life of action. And finally, he talks about Luke, though his brow furrows and he grimaces when he tells her that his aunt and uncle won’t allow him to guide the boy as he would like. But he does, at least, have a holograph: it shows a tiny blond boy being held between the young couple Padmé remembers from her brief visit to Tatooine. Owen and Beru both have their gazes fixed on the holo-lens, but the boy, Luke, her Luke, keeps looking away into the distance.

“I wish I could do more for him,” Obi-Wan finishes. “But I can’t risk it. I fear… I fear that I’m failing him, Padmé. I fear that I’m failing you, just as I failed...”

He doesn’t need to finish the sentence.

“You didn’t fail us,” says Padmé. “Never say that, Obi-Wan.”

He grows still, and Padmé remembers that he too has not heard his name in years. In many ways, he’s been just as dead as she. Perhaps that’s why he came to her so quickly, without asking questions.

“Obi-Wan…” she says again. They’re both the same in this. They’ve both lost too much. They need each other. She leans in and presses her lips to his.

For a moment he leans into her. For a moment his lips part, and his hand curls around her wrist.

Then he pulls away. “Padmé… we can’t. _I_ can’t. You know that.”

She raises her chin. “I don’t know it.”

“You, of all people should--” 

He stops when she places a hand over his mouth. His words sting, and she doesn’t want to hear more of them; they will only lead to an argument that will hurt them both far too much. 

“I’m not asking you to form an attachment,” she says gently. “You have to leave in the morning, and I won’t stop you. I just want… I want to be with someone who remembers that I’m not dead. I want to do something that isn’t just watching from outside. And I think you do too.” 

Padmé lets her hand fall from Obi-Wan’s mouth, but he doesn’t say anything. When she leans in again, he doesn’t pull away.

* * *

He’s gone when she wakes up.

She knows, without having to ask, that Bail and Breha will erase all records of his arrival and departure; officially he will never have been here. But Padmé can still see the impression of his body in the bed, she can still feel her hands running over his skin.

And she smiles, because she knows that she is alive.


End file.
